


The Utterly and Woefully Boring Life and Times of Tweek Tweak

by permanentchaos



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Entrepreneur Craig, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kenny is a bro, M/M, Mild Language, More tags to be added as we go, Mugging, Multi, Poor Tweek, Slow Burn, This is like Pretty Woman but not really, Tweek is a sassy shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/permanentchaos/pseuds/permanentchaos
Summary: So this is it, the great and woefully boring life of Tweek Tweak. Stupid name, stupid job, stupid apartment, stupidly tired of it all. That is of course, until Craig Tucker barrels into his life and proposes something that just might change all of that.
Relationships: Clyde Donovan/Bebe Stevens, Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak, Token Black/Wendy Testaburger, Twenny - Friendship
Comments: 27
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is dedicated to all those lovelies in the Creek Discord who listened to my ramblings, liked them, and then gave me the confidence to write this.

Tweek wishes he could say life had been funny for him. 

When he was growing up, progressing through elementary and tackling high school, he had always expected things to turn out differently to the expectation that was held of him. When he thinks about it now however, this was probably exactly what destiny had always had on the cards for him. He’s twenty-four years old, broke as fuck and still working for his parents in their crappy coffee shop. It’s hardly the interesting, adventurous future that he would always hope he would lead. 

It’s clear that his downfall could arguably have started off with the crumpling of any idealistic dream of college. There was no way he would have ever scraped the grades to be applicable for a scholarship, as he was often reminded intelligence was not his forte, and his parents were hardly ever in the position to be paying out thousands in college tuition; especially when they couldn’t even pay their son, and only employee, a decent wage. 

So this is where Tweek finds himself now, biting at the hard skin around his nails, a disgusting habit he is sure he will never shake, as he boredly waits for his bus. It’s cold, the brittle wind of winter wrapping around him like a blanket and Tweek pulls at his coat, bringing it a little tighter around himself. It’s nothing fancy, black and slightly fuzzy from long term wear but it’s the only one he’s got and he’s pretty sure he’ll still be wearing it when he’s forty and it’s threadbare. 

His shift ended over half an hour ago and his parents had sent him out with little more than a wave and a bag filled with half stale pastries that he, himself, had made a couple of days earlier.  _ For the road _ , his mom had said, pushing the brown bag into his hands and kissing his cheek.  _ For the road _ . As if she wasn’t already aware that these were probably the only things he was going to be eating for the next day or so until he could make a trip to the grocery store when they finally paid him. His cupboards were long empty and the only thing salvaging his already frail anxiety at the thought of going home to empty shelves, was the derelict coffee machine that his parents had bought him as a present when he first moved out and into his own place. It was cheap, probably cost a little more than he expected them to cash out though, and it made coffee well enough that he could hit his caffeine addiction throughout the day without having to store rations from the shop. He couldn’t complain really, there were a lot of worse situations he could be in.

The rumble of the bus breaks his reverie as he turns to see to it approach from around the corner. Tweek scrambles for his bus pass, cursing himself for not having it out and ready in the first place. He hates having to take the bus, but it’s either a twenty minute bus ride back to his apartment or a forty-five minute walk. The city is a dangerous place as it is and with the weather taking a turn, scraping by the twenty or so dollars it took for his monthly pass to get to and from work seemed like a good sacrifice of money. 

The bus halts to a rickety stop in front of him and Tweek grimaces as the doors squeal open. He flashes his pass at the driver and hops into the nearest seat that doesn’t look like it has the stains of a thousand asses on it and isn’t near to another human. It’s nearing 7pm on a Thursday and so the bus isn’t as busy as Tweek was expecting, which he is extremely thankful for. Buses are a breeding ground for germs and sickness and Tweek feels a surge of uneasiness run through him as the bus lurches forward and suddenly he is trapped on a moving tin can filled with years worth of city contaminants. He’s pretty sure buses don’t get cleaned, so god knows what he’s sitting in and the urge to just strip off and throw everything straight in the laundry when he gets home is almost crushing. He can’t, today isn’t laundry day and Tweek certainly isn’t wasting any spare quarters on the shitty machines in the basement of his apartment block on one set of clothes. 

Tweek keeps his head down in his lap, glancing up periodically to see where he is and how close his stop is. His hands, which are tightly clasped around the crinkling brown paper bag in his lap, are dry and chapped, ruined after days of labour, the harshness of cold weather and lack of proper care. He can see the skin between his thumb and forefinger starting to crack and he mentally notes he needs to get that fixed before it starts to bleed and it gets infected. 

The bus screeches to a halt and hisses as air is let down from the tires. Tweek jumps at the sound and looks up to a worn woman in her thirties, hefting up a pink stroller with a screaming child in it.  _ Great, _ he thinks, perfect for his already brewing headache. He watches as the woman drops change into the driver's hand and waves him off as she struggles to push the stroller further into the bus. Tweek is tempted to stand and ask if she needs help, but the kid screams again and the look she sends them is enough to make Tweek cower, so he adjusts his position in his own seat and continues to look back down at his hands. 

The bus chugs back to life and rolls forward again, and Tweek closes his eyes, counts to twenty in his head and takes slow, measured breaths. He’s nearly home, so very near, and ready for a night of hardened cherry cake and the latest sci-fi novel he picked up at the thrift store. It’s a guilty pleasure, one he’s not entirely sure why he has because the thought of aliens and space terrifies him on a good day, so why Tweek spends hours a night indulging himself in words upon words of lost, futuristic worlds he has no idea. There is something about them he supposes, the idea of drowning himself in a far reality from his own does have its own romantic appeal, especially when it’s something so far from what his life is now, or how his life would ever turn out. 

The journey of new discoveries entices him to entertain his own imagination of a world where he doesn’t work for his parents, a world where standing on his own two feet, providing his own lifestyle isn’t as much of a far off dream as it is a reality. That when he looks into his parents eyes he sees more than disappointment and loss for what he could have become. Tweek’s pretty sure his father is happy to just have cheap labour, though the wishes for the great Tweek Bro’s expansion disappeared quickly when it looked like Tweek’s own meagre grades weren’t enough to provide him with a college education. 

He could blame his parents, he could blame the fact that he was hyped up on so much caffeine that some days the environment around him blurred as though it were a badly recorded movie. He could say that the fact that he spent hours upon hours of his childhood and subsequent teenage years, learning how to serve mediocre coffee for stupid prices instead of learning the texts he was supposed to for class, was really did it. Late homework, late attendance, no support system. Tweek supposes there were a lot of reasons that school seemed to pass him by as nothing more than a mere fancy, but that doesn’t change his situation now. It doesn’t change the fact that growing up he had no real friends, apart from Kenny, that he was bordering on the line of working class and poor, that he lived in a crappy two story city house that he moved out of when he turned twenty-two and now he lives in an even crappier studio apartment. 

No, the fact of the matter is, is that Tweek Tweak was born a nobody, would probably die a coffee stained nobody and when he finally left the earth, he would have nothing to show for it.

Tweek is thrown forward when the bus slams to a halt, he grabs at the bar in front of him to catch himself and grimaces when his skin hits something sticky. He looks out the window, suddenly incredibly grateful for the bus drivers shitty driving. His stop is next and that would have just been the cherry on the top of his already crappy day if he had missed his stop and would have had to walk back to his place anyway. Tweek rubs his hand on his jeans, whatever sticky substance that is now clinging to his hand is really not coming off, and isn’t that just disgusting. He hits the bell and stands, manoeuvring around the tired mother scrolling through her phone and her now quiet spawn, a whole fist shoved in its slobbering mouth. 

Fuck, he really hates buses. 

Tweek grabs at the pole next to him as the bus hits his stop, the doors screech open and he practically throws himself out, stumbling onto the sidewalk. He turns in time to see the driver give him a snide look as the doors are slammed in Tweeks face and the bus chugs off. The cold air pricks at his face, tiny needles cutting right into his skin. His apartment isn’t far, only a block around the next corner and the street is fairly quiet tonight. Tweek still quickens his step, shoving a hand into his coat pocket and yanking out his keys as he turns around the side of the building and the light of the block entrance flickers on. 

Tweek checks his mailbox, all of three letters are crammed into the small space and by the look of them are undoubtedly bills. He takes the stairs, because god forbid the elevator actually be working. The thing hasn’t been in service for one day since he moved in and in hindsight that's probably a good thing, because Tweek probably wouldn’t have the confidence to use the damn death trap anyway. His apartment is on the third floor and despite walking up and down the stairs consistently every day, Tweek still gets the wind knocked out of him by the time he is standing outside his door. 

Dropping both his mail and pastries on the kitchen table, Tweek heads straight for the portable heater he has sat next to his couch, flicking it on. He doesn’t stop, pulling off his coat and throwing it down as he heads to the bathroom to scrub furiously at his hands until they are red raw and whatever the hell had been on them has been officially eliminated. 

It’s 8.30pm by the time Tweek is settling down, a cup of steaming coffee to his side and a slice of mildly stale walnut cake balanced precariously on a plate on his knees. 

Maybe tomorrow will be better. It’s Friday, work is bound to be slightly busier, he finally gets his paycheck and there’s about thirty dollars worth of groceries calling his name to be bought. 

* * *

Friday is not the better day he was hoping for. 

His alarm doesn’t go off. 

He misses his bus. 

His father berates him for twenty minutes about the importance of time keeping. 

His mother-

“We’re gonna have to cut your pay kiddo.” His mom’s voice is soft, hesitant as she waits for his reaction. She knows he is barely getting by as it is and he supposes she is just waiting for the penny to drop and for him to beg her to allow him to move back home. 

“What- why!? Ow fuck!” Tweek rubs a hand over the sore spot of his head where she’d banged it against the top of the dishwasher. His mother tuts where she stands above him, running her own hands through his blonde locks, giving her own assessment of his injury. Satisfied with whatever she must not find, her hands go back to sorting through the side of takeaway cups still sat in plastic wrapping.

“I’m sorry honey, we’re just not making what we used to, and when the bills come in we have to make sacrifices.” He looks across at his dad who is nonchalantly humming to himself and cleaning down one of the machines, as if he has no care and no idea that his wife is essentially taking the brunt of bad news to his only son. Knowing him, he probably doesn’t. 

“You- you get you already pay me lower than the standard wage for working in the city right? You cut my wage you may as not pay me at all! How am I supposed to live? I shouldn’t be your sacrifice!” Tweek stands, he’s taller than his mother and yet in her presence he always feels so small. There is nothing particularly intimidating about her, there are flecks of grey running through her dusty blonde hair, and wrinkles that loop around her eyes and mouth. Her blue eyes are bright and fierce and she looks like she can take on the world, something that never ages despite the fact the rest of her body does. 

Tweek loves his mother dearly, she was always the one who held him tight when he had his panic attacks, who swiped sweat and sick from his face and spent hours by his bedside when he could barely stand. She read to him and made him waffles for breakfast every morning, even when he lost his temper and broke things, slammed doors, got in trouble at school. His mother has been a light in his life that he hopes will never extinguish, but she is buried beneath the storm that is his father. Blinding and wild he crashes through everything he touches and sucks out of it any ounce of good. His coffee shop is his life and his wife and his son, a secondary concern. 

His mother sends him a sad smile and cups a cheek with her hand. “I know it doesn’t seem fair sweetheart. Your father and I appreciate all the work you do to support our business. Things will get better okay? We couldn’t do this without you, Tweek.” Just like that, the air leaves him. His mothers words washing over his every sense. That inescapable truth that causes resentment to course through his veins like fire. They  _ couldn’t _ do this without him and it's the entirely worst thing about this whole situation. His parents would slowly lose the business and then themselves if he were to walk out that door tomorrow and never come back, and as much as he is begrudged in having to spend a lifetime in this godforsaken building, pouring cup after cup of shitty coffee, he couldn’t do that to them. He can’t abandon them in their moment of need. His weakness is their gain and like a shark sensing blood in the water, his father feeds from that knowledge. 

Tweek nods and his shoulders slump in defeat. He holds his hands up and can feel the persistent twitch of his right eye. “Fine.” 

“You know you can always mo-”

“No mom. It’s fine. I’ll work something out.” 

“Well the offer is always there sweetheart okay?” Tweek shakes his head, moving around his mom as she closes the dishwasher in his absence.  _ Work something out, _ what the fuck was he going to do, he barely made enough here for rent let alone food and the rest of his bills? He could get a second job, but most of his life is spent in the shop, he’d have to really cut his hours down to be able to make any other work feasible. 

He pushes through the door marked STAFF ONLY, dropping his body into the nearest chair of the small kitchenette they call a break room and slamming his head face first against the cold surface of the table. 

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

* * *

Tweek watches as his father meticulously counts out his bi-weekly earnings. Despite his father dragging the whole process out as though he is doing Tweek a huge favour, this is one of Tweek’s most favourite parts of his week. He has been waiting for this moment since his last paycheck, because living paycheck to paycheck never has any other great moments apart from  _ this _ , and right now Tweek doesn’t care how much he is going to get, as long as he can buy something more than ramen tomorrow he’s going to damn well be happy about it. He bounces on the balls of his feet, fingers tapping at the counter anxiously. 

“Sometime today Dad, I'm gonna miss my bus otherwise.” His father looks up at him and frowns, and Tweek really has to hold himself back from rolling his eyes. Richard Tweek always seems to give the impression that he solely believes he has an air of importance, which he doesn’t and this is no news to anyone that knows him. Especially his son. 

“Come now Tweek, counting money is like taking that first sip of freshly brewed morning cof-” Tweek pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a long irritated sigh. He’s about to tell his father exactly what he thinks of  _ that  _ particularly analogy when his mother appears, breezing past her husband and leaning over the counter with a takeaway cup and another brown bag that she motions for Tweek to take. 

“Richard honey, let Tweek be on his way. This is for you Tweek dear, think of it as a Friday night treat.”

_ God, he loves this woman.  _

Tweek takes the two items with a small smile and a muttered thanks, when a small pile of notes are slid across the counter towards him. “This is for you son. Good job on the work.” Tweek loses the fight not to roll his eyes and maneuvers the bag in his hands to pinch it between his other fingers while he grabs the money and slides it into the inside pocket of his coat. 

“See you guys on Sunday.” He says, but his dad doesn’t deign it important enough to respond as he simply turns his back on him, heading to the nearest coffee machine, no doubt to make his own cup of last minute brew while his wife sends their only son off with a warm smile of her own. 

“See you Sunday sweetheart. Have a good day tomorrow.” Tweek heads out of the coffee house, thankful for his upcoming one and only day off. Conveniently falling on a Saturday, though he has absolutely no idea how and what’s even more of a surprise, is that his father managed to keep his mouth shut about it. Another one of his mothers' many miracles Tweek expects. 

He is leaving a little later than he did yesterday, a point which would usually irritate him but when he’s got a hot cup of caffeine in hand and a few extra hundred dollars in his pocket, he can’t bring himself to care too much. It’s a Friday night, so the streets are a lot busier than the day before, stores open until later and bars and clubs beginning to set up for a busy night of business. 

Tweek has never been one to see the appeal of drinking anything other than coffee or green tea, let alone alcohol. His only foray into the world of being drunk when he was fifteen and Kenny has stolen an 8-pack from his dad. The two had sat in a small park area by Kenny’s parents' place until about 3am and sipped at the disgusting liquid until sufficiently drunk. His tolerance for the stuff being so low that three beers in he already felt like he was standing on top of the world as it moved over and around him with no bearing on his own stability or sanity. Kenny had found it hilarious and Tweek had suffered with the worst hangover the next day and so swore off any and all alcoholic beverages in the future. Besides, the crowds of clubs were always too much for him. Too many people packed too tightly next to each other and loud, thumping music beating itself into his brain. No, Tweek would rather stay home with a prime cup of coffee and a book and be willfully boring than have to endure even five minutes of hell like that. 

He moves swiftly to his stop, biting his lip when he leans in to see the timetable better in the poor street light and realises that because his father had taken so long, he now has to wait an extra forty minutes thanks to the evening change in timetables. Sitting down on the uncomfortable bus stand seats, Tweek sips at the drink his mother made him, smiling at the hint of vanilla she had added in and knowing that it was Tweeks favourite kind of addition. 

He’s only been sitting there five or so minutes when someone else arrives at the stop. The guy, he notices, is tall, gangly and smells like he’s been bathing in booze and weed. He casts a look over at Tweek, grunting before slumping onto the bench next to him. Tweek squeaks when he feels the man's body bumping against his own and he closes his eyes and swallows, shuffling as subtly as he can to his left in a desperate attempt to create some space between them. When he can’t possibly go any further, Tweek folds his body in on itself and hopelessly wishes that he could grow smaller and more insignificant, or maybe could just fly away. God only knows Tweek does not really want to get murdered tonight, and although the streets themselves are busier, it’s only a little past eight and they are not exactly in an area where loving thy neighbour is held with high regard. 

He can feel the guys eyes boring into him, staring into him and into him and into him and- Tweek takes a large gulp of his coffee, despondently realising that his stomach is twisted in so many knots that the warming calm of his favourite drink is no longer offering the soothing presence it usually does. Accepting that he is done with his drink, Tweek stands and tosses it in the trash can next to the stop, making a point of not moving back to his own seat and instead lingers by the edge of the sidewalk. 

Tweek's fingers are starting to twitch and so he stuffs them in his pockets, desperately willing himself to take deeper breaths. It’s okay, this is just a guy, like the hundreds of others that hang around on the streets and that come into the shop everyday. Tweek has absolutely nothing to worry about. He pulls out his phone to check the time, okay, so ten minutes. That’s what, twenty five to go? That’s okay. He can wait. Each minute is ticking by slowly however, and the twitching Tweek has spent so many years trying to control gets worse and worse by each surge of panic that runs through him. He turns around, only to meet the guys eyes and Tweek whips his head back around so fast that pain laces through his neck. 

“You got a problem boy?” Tweek looks over his shoulder, eyes wide and fearful. 

“No sir.” His voice cracks and Tweek moves to look down at his feet and debates whether it would just be worth it to start walking home or back to the coffee shop. Tweek immediately throws going back to his parents out of his head, but walking home now doesn’t really seem like such a bad idea. He still has another twenty or so minutes to wait, and he could be most of the way home by then and it would definitely be a plus that he would be away from this creepy asshole if he did that. 

Tweek clenches his fists and sucks a breath, walking home it is. Belatedly, he realises that the brown bag of perishables his mom had gifted him is still by the bus stand bench, and sat contentedly near the feet of the creeper. Nope, _ not worth it. _ Tweek mentally writes off the loss as he turns on his feet and begins to walk away. It’s still cold, and the bite of the evening chill seems even worse when Tweek is already sufficiently freaked out. He fiddles with the buttons of his coat, doing them haphazardly up as he walks, a couple of them are misplaced but whatever, as long as most of them are done up enough to keep the cold out, Tweek will consider it a win. 

The walk back to his apartment is a different route to the one that the bus takes, as it is able to move along the busier streets and more direct roads that Tweek can’t access. So Tweek is forced to take the few smaller backstreets before coming out into a downtown area, which is a little quieter and a little more upmarket. His complex is on the other side to this, past the fancy hotels and a couple of smarter looking bars where the patrons are all dressed in suits and glitzy dresses. There is a small divot of path across the way that leads Tweek to a more residential area and then finally to his block in a slightly grottier neighbourhood. It’s not the worst of walks, and this little part of town is always nice to look at. Tweek can almost pretend that he’s part of the crowd, that he belongs amongst the glamour and money surrounding the street. 

Checking the crossing, twice more than he probably needed too, Tweek moves over the road and hits the adjoining path. The buzz and sound lowers like someone has turned down the sound of a radio, and the lights and hum of a world foreign to him dissipates as Tweek moves around the corner and down the side street. 

It’s here that his night pretty much falls apart.

He probably should have seen it coming, or at least checked behind him, but who was he to know that bus stop creeper would become stalking creeper to become, fuck he’s mugging me creeper. The pain lacing his back and head rockets through him as he is pushed hard against a cold, stone wall. There’s a voice, demanding and the smell of old alcohol and B.O overwhelms his senses to the point that Tweek chokes as he tries not to gag. There’s warm meaty hands roaming over his body and a croaking voice in his ear. Tweek's eyesight blurs as his hair is roughly grabbed and he is thrown onto the floor. He lets out a pathetic yell and scrabbles over the concrete, his nails chipping as he scrapes them across the sidewalk in a weak attempt to get away. 

"Ge-get off!” Tweek kicks out his legs, and his body rolls to the side. His assailant is a lot stronger than he is and has the advantage to already be standing as he kicks Tweek in his stomach, once, twice and a third time just to get the message clear. Tweek is pushed onto his back and this coat is pulled open, the sound of a couple of buttons hitting the floor is almost ringing in Tweeks ears.

He stares up at the sky, blurred and black. Light seeping through the windows of the buildings above appearing like fainting stars blinking in and out of Tweek’s vision. There is the sound of passing cars, a screech of tires, a yell. 

Then it’s dark. 

* * *

“...can you hear me? Hello? Hey kid?” 

Tweek groans, his head sways to the side and then he’s retching. The burn of vomit crawls up his throat and splats onto the sidewalk, the smell sears his nose. 

“Fuck. Here.” There’s a warm, dark material that’s shoved into his hands, and then slowly and carefully wiped across his face. Tweek still can’t see much, his vision is still trying to connect the reality around him like pieces of a puzzle. He’s cold, he knows that as a shiver runs up his spine, and there is a lot of noise, cars, buzzing, words, deep, smooth voice-

Hands. 

_ Someone is touching him.  _

“Get-get the fuck off me!” He’s pushing his body back but it’s hitting nothing but wall, there’s a pain striking up his back like lightning but the hands that were holding him are abruptly removed. Tweek blinks rapidly as his vision clears and the appearance of a well-dressed man in a suit clears in front of him. His hair is swept tidily to the side, styled well with gel. His tailored shirt, tie and trousers are pulled tightly in all the right places and his jacket...oh. It’s currently sitting in Tweek’s sick. 

_ Oh.  _

That was what was rubbing across his face. Probably was expensive. Tweek can’t even afford to offer to pay for that. Who is he kidding? He probably couldn’t afford to- wait.  _ His jacket. _

“My coat...where,” he swallows, his throat feels like needles but as the panic takes hold of him pushes it to a side and desperately tries to search for his coat. “Where is my coat?”

“You mean this?” The man holds up a limp piece of black material and Tweek groans for the loss of his one and only coat. He spies the tears in the material, the missing buttons, but he grabs at it frantically anyway, hands grappling to access the inside pocket and what should be his only source of income. Except it's gone, the pocket completely and utterly empty. The asshole had taken it, the guy had followed him from the bus stop, beat the shit out of him and then robbed him of the only thing that was going to keep him from living on the streets. 

The laugh that leaves Tweek is ugly, coming from a place Tweek didn’t even realise he had. The situation is so pathetic, so poetically typical of the life of Tweek Tweak, poor, useless, good for nothing Tweek. Who is kept in the pocket of his parents financial difficulties, who lives in an absolute shithole and who can’t even stand to wait at a bus stop for twenty minutes for fear of being murdered, but this, this is so much  _ worse. _

Tweek can almost already hear the disappointing lull of his fathers voice. Expectant of this kind of misery from his only son. Why wouldn’t something like this happen to Tweek? Even the soothing tones of his mother wouldn’t be able to seize this painful failure. Tweek couldn’t help getting mugged, yet he can’t help but feel entirely responsible for putting himself in this situation in the first place. 

So he does the only thing he can, he laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs and fuck, if there isn’t something oddly cathartic about the whole thing. 

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay.” Tweek chokes back another laugh as he hits his head back against the wall. He eyes his probable saviour through half lidded green eyes. 

“Nothing is okay man.” 

The guy arches an eyebrow at him, eyes roaming down his body and landing on his fists, still clutching tightly at the shredded black material of his coat. “You need to go to the hospital.”

Tweek barks out another laugh, right, hospital, he wouldn’t even be able to afford the  _ bus fare  _ there. 

“Hard pass.”

“I think you have a concussion.”

“What are you a doctor or sum’thin?” The guy rolls his eyes, moving from his crouched position in front of Tweek to sit back on his ass. Undoing the buttons of his cuffs of his shirt, he rolls up the sleeves to his elbows. “No, but I got a friend who is one, if you’re worried about insurance, don’t be.” 

“My hero.”

“You always this much of an ass to people trying to help you?”

“I’m concussed right? Whole personality change.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling this isn’t the case.” 

Tweek sighs, moving to try and stand, but his whole world tilts axis and he finds himself nearly face first with the pavement again. Two arms wrap around his waist and Tweek looks up and straight into the face of the guy who is incessantly set on saving him. Mismatched eyes gleam back at him, and there is something inherently mesmerising about it, as though Tweek were looking into two different galaxies. The spell is immediately broken when the guy coughs awkwardly and Tweek notices the position they are still in. 

“I fell.” he says, his face scrunching up awkwardly. 

“So you did. You want a hand standing up?”

“Sure.” He feels the ends of his shoes scraping along the floor as he is pulled up, and Tweek grabs at the man's shoulders to steady himself as he is righted. He sways on his feet, the world around him circling him like the rewind of a video tape before it finally centres again. 

  
“You cool?” The guy has a nice voice. Smooth, kind of nasally. It’s not grating on his growing headache though, so Tweek nods, his body still shaking. He aches, in a way it hasn’t for a long time, and he desperately wants nothing more to be in his crappy little apartment and under the ratty blankets of his bed. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.” 

“Good. Now get in the car.” The man let’s go of him, nodding his head back so Tweek can peer around him and see the sleek black car that’s parked haphazardly at the curb with the engine still running, the dull sound of the radio drifting out the open door. 

“What?” Tweek frowns up at him, which causes a rush of irritation to run through him because this dude is really only a few inches taller than him, so what the hell. The guy rolls his eyes, bending down to pick up his jacket, only to drop it straight back onto the floor with a revolted face. 

“I said, get in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital, or to Token. Your choice. And don’t worry about the jacket, it’s a lost cause.” Tweek freezes mid bend, his fingers brushing the silk fabric of the black jacket, ideas already running through his head on exactly how he is going to get the damn article of clothing dry cleaned. When he looks at the expression he’s being given, he huffs out a breath and stands back up. 

_ Why are you helping me? What can I do to thank you? You don’t have to do this.  _ All equally polite things he wants to say, viable thought processes and questions that any reasonable person would want to say. Instead what comes out of his mouth is, “who the fuck is Token?” and, wow.  _ Way to go Tweek, in your attempt at not being rude, you’ve managed to single handedly outdo yourself in being the biggest asshole. Yep. The Life and Times of Tweek Tweak. _

The guy doesn’t seem too bothered though, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms and his face falls into the most apathetic look Tweek thinks he has ever seen. “Token is the guy who is gonna tell me if your brain is as fucked as you’re making it seem. Or if I should just drive you back here and leave you on the side of the street. I’m assuming the hospital is a no go and I won’t live it down if I find out you died out here tomorrow morning so get, in the damn, car.” Yeah okay, so it’s a valid point, but as Tweek looks between this man, this kinda attractive man and no, that’s  _ not _ the train of thought he needs right now; and his very expensive car, Tweek concerns himself with yet trying not to make another huge mistake of the night. 

“I don’t even know who the hell you are.” He stutters out, wrapping both arms around himself. The guy huffs.

“Craig.” He retorts, and Tweek frowns. 

“What?”

“My name is Craig.”

“Okay...” Tweek shrugs, confusion rippling through him. He’s pretty sure he didn’t ask him for his name, but then again...the world is still somewhat spinning and so Tweek can’t really be sure that  _ isn’t _ what he asked. 

“This is the part where you tell me your name.”

“Oh.” Manners. Right. He has them. 

“Your name is, oh?”  _ Oh my god, why is this guy so annoying? _

“No! My name is not Oh! My name is Tweek, damn.” Tweek snaps, uncrossing his arms and clenching his fists. Was this guy being purposefully obtuse, or was riling Tweek up some prerequisite before his inevitable murder? 

“Huh.” Craig looks sort of confused as he tilts his head to look back at Tweek. The look only causes Tweek to feel even more irritated. 

“What?” He says, his head shaking a little. 

“Weird name.”

“Yeah yeah, not the first time I’ve heard that.” Tweek rolls his eyes and stares off to the side. He’s spent enough time over the years dealing with people shitting on his name. He know’s it’s stupid, that his parents were either incredibly uncreative when he was born, or they just plain hated him. Some days Tweek really wonders if it just isn’t glaringly both. 

“Right. Well,  _ Tweek _ , now you know my name, I know yours. Properly introduced. Get in the car. And don’t argue, it’s not cute.” Tweek splutters, face going red. He isn’t trying to be cute, he’s trying to not get himself killed, he’s already been mugged at this point. Then again, he  _ has just been mugged, _ and Craig is right, his head does not feel good. Neither does the rest of his body for that matter and if he doesn’t get himself checked out now, then his mom is only going to try and force him on Sunday when he goes back to work and won’t that just be a killer. He can already see his fathers disapproving glare in his mind's eye when they realise they are going to have to pay out for what undoubtedly will be labelled as his own incompetence. 

"Yeah, what the fuck ever. Let's go. What's the worst that could happen?" Tweek relents, because at this point, what  _ is _ the worst that could happen? If he survives through the night, he will only have to deal with the fallout of having no money, a shitty job with an even shittier paying wage and his own inevitable physical and emotional downfall. 

He gets in the car, after all, what more has he got to lose?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two: In which Tweek gets Tylenol and free, diner coffee. Craig is just making this shit up as he goes along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is early.
> 
> Sorry not sorry. 
> 
> Here we go!

The moment is kind of surreal. Tweek's never really travelled in what he would consider a ‘nice’ car before, and Craig has a pretty sweet ride. Not that Tweek really has any idea about what constitutes a good car, but he can appreciate one with face value features that wouldn’t come in as standard of any of the cars people he knows would drive. For example, the giant screen in the centre console currently displaying their location and the lines of blue coloured LEDs down the side really scream,  _ this car costs _ . It’s not like Tweek hadn’t really noticed that Craig was probably someone who would come from a background of money, if his well fitted suit were any indication, and Tweek  _ was _ strolling along the very roads that people with six figure bank accounts would frequent. 

Tweek has his head leant back against the headrest, eyes closed. Craig must have seat warmers because he can feel the plush leather beneath him steadily growing warmer and warmer. It’s nice, after sitting outside on the hard cold ground the heat is relaxing against his sore body. The headache that had steadily been brewing however is getting worse, and although Craig has the volume turned low, the soft rock that airs out of the car speakers is doing nothing to ease the thumping of his brain. Tweek feels his face twitch uncomfortably and he rubs a hand across his temple to try and ease some of the pressure. Feeling eyes on him, Tweek opens his own just in time to catch Craig glancing away. 

“Keep your eyes on the road dude, I don’t wanna end up in a wreck as well as everything else.” Craig snorts, putting both hands back on the wheel. 

“I’m not concerned about that. You, on the other hand, look pale.” 

“Nng, I’m fine, just got a headache. Everything is too loud.” Tweek rubs both hands across his face in irritation before dropping them back in his lap and sighing loudly. A second later however, the music shuts off and all that can be heard is the quiet hum of the car. 

“Sorry,” Craig says lowly, regarding him out of the corner of his eyes again. 

“Don’t worry about it, just focus on the road.” Tweek shuts his own eyes and enjoys the peace and the steady, smooth drive. It doesn’t last long until Craig's voice pierces through Tweek's calm reverie however. 

“So.”

“Hmm?”

“Did you know the guy?” He asks, and Tweek gives him a confused look before he realises exactly what Craig is asking. 

“No.” He flops further back into his seat and closes his eyes again. “He followed me from a bus stop back in Lower South, I think anyway. Pretty sure it was him.” There is a churning in Tweek’s stomach that makes him almost want to vomit again. He had been  _ followed _ . The guy could easily have just followed him home, could have found out where he lived and security at his block was essentially non-existent. He shudders at that train of thought, because this whole situation could certainly have turned completely different. Yes, he could be at home right now, half cooked ramen and day old cake his evening meal, a ratty book in his lap and a mug of green tea to ease his stress and then what? A knock at the door? A broken lock? It’s the exact thing that Tweek was terrified of as a child and somehow he had managed to convince himself that he was so unappealing it wouldn’t happen to  _ him _ . He was an invisible entity, drifting through the world and passing through the lives of everyone else without so much as a second thought and yet, tonight had really tipped that idea all on its head. 

“You walked all the way from Lower South?” Craig asks, and Tweek gives a half aborted shrug.

“Yeah. Finished work later than usual and the creepy asshole was freaking me out at the stop so decided to walk home. Not my best idea.” Craig gives a derisive snort as he flicks his indicator and the car turns. “You can say that again.” Ignoring the slight twinge in his head, Tweek sits up and stares across at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Look if you’re just going to berate me for my shitty decisions then you can just let me out here thanks. I get enough of that from my parents.” His glare doesn’t lessen, even after Craig casts a glance over at him and looks back at the road again. Who the hell does this asshole think he  _ is _ ? Tweek didn’t ask for his help, and okay, yeah, Tweek is grateful but still. The last thing he needs right now is a fucking _ lecture _ . He’s about to say as much, when Craig interrupts him.

“How old are you?” The question comes from nowhere and Tweek blinks at the sudden change in conversation. He sits back in his seat and stares out the window instead, watching the lights of passing buildings blur into a yellow starscape. 

“Why?” He asks quietly, two fingers coming up to run across the edge of his door window, backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, so much like his life-

“It’s not a dig, just a question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Tweek bites his bottom lip, feeling his teeth dig into his skin so much that he worries for a moment he’s going to bite all the way through. His hand drops from the window into his lap. It is  _ only _ a question, but it makes him feel so much like the petulant child he is so often left to feel like he is acting. He’s young, but he’s not  _ that _ young, and either this is the moment he’ll get judged for being twenty-four and not being able to look after himself, or he’ll be reprimanded that he is  _ only twenty-four _ and actually his parents are probably right. 

“It’s not that, I’m just on edge, you know. Plus, I’ve never done this before so…” Tweek motions between the two of them like that should explain everything and Craig looks over at him quickly with a raised eyebrow.

“Done what? Get in a strangers car after being mugged? I should hope not.” Tweek huffs in a way that he supposes should be a laugh but sounds more like a snort, and immediately his face reddens.  _ Yeah, wow. Real mature.  _

“24” he mumbles, following a minute of silence and he lifts his thumb to start biting back at the skin around it. 

“Okay,” Craig replies, nodding his head. Tweek looks over at him.

“Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“You're not gonna tell me how old you are?” Craig shrugs, “you didn’t ask,” he says, as though that were the most obvious thing in the world and yeah okay, Tweek supposes the question hardly offers a reciprocal response. 

“Okay. How old are you?” His hand drops and he angles his body in his seat to face Craig so much that his back is touching the car door. 

“29,” Craig mutters somewhat distracted as he leans forward slightly and looks into the street, slowing down the car. Tweek follows his gaze, a lazy smile when he replies. “Nice car.”

Craig snorts. “Thanks man.”

Craig pulls over to the side of the curb, outside a large red-brick townhouse.There are two small pillars at the front porch with a white overhang, and the small path leading to the house is lined with tidy bushes and lights.

“This is…?” Tweek begins but Craig cuts him off with a raised hand and short sigh. Shutting off the car, he undoes his seatbelt and turns his whole body to face Tweek.

“Look,” he starts, “this is Token's house. He and his wife are friends of mine, they’re both doctors and they’re about to do both of us a favour that they don’t even know about yet, so- just don't be an ass okay?” Tweek makes a noise, affronted at the insinuation that 1. he can’t be polite of all things and 2. that Craig hasn’t even had the foresight to  _ tell _ these people that he is dragging a complete stranger to their house. 

“You haven’t told them?!” Tweeks eyes widen in panic as Craig, completely indifferent to his concerns, waves a hand at him nonchalantly. 

“I text him I was coming over, you’ve been here the whole ride, you would have known if I had called.”

“What if he-” Tweek sits up, hands clenching tightly at his knees. 

“Don’t sweat it, Token’s a good guy, he’ll be fine. Besides, this...isn’t the first time I’ve done this.” Craig stutters slightly, eyes narrowing as he looks away and out through the windshield. Tweek rolls his eyes and slumps back against the car door. “What? Turned up with a stranger at his door?!” Craig doesn’t respond right away, he simply purses his lips and takes a long, measured breath. 

“It’s not the first time I’ve turned up at his doorstep and asked him to put his doctors hat on, let's just leave it at that. You gonna be good getting out or do you need a hand?” Tweek blinks at the change of subject as Craig turns back to face him, but shakes his head and accepts the distraction for what it is. He could push, but really, he doesn’t really think he  _ wants _ to. What would be the point? It’s not like he and Craig are friends, or will be after this. Tweek just really wants to get home alive and in one piece after all this is over. 

He watches as Craig nods and steps out of the car, suddenly re-thinking over his offer for help as he goes to do the same and his body screams at him. There is a deep set ache in his bones which he knows he will be feeling for the next few days at least, between the warmth of the seat heaters cooling rapidly and sitting in relative stillness throughout the journey, everything feels heavy and stiff as he pulls himself up. 

“You sure you're good?” Craig asks, watching as Tweek slams his door shut and stumbles over to him in a poor attempt to conceal his limp. Tweek nods and shoos him forward with his hands. He’s already in an embarrassing state, the last thing he needs is to be carried up some stranger's path like some frail damsel in distress. 

The front door opens as they approach and a young man with dark skin and wide brown eyes stares at them. 

“Craig…?” He says and Craig offers him a crooked smile as he looks over his shoulder at Tweek and then back again. 

“Hey man, do us a solid?”

* * *

“So you were mugged?” 

“Yep.”

“Walking from lower south to middle east town?” 

“Yeeep.”

“Oh honey.”

Tweek is sat huddled into the corner of a lavish white sofa, a mug of coffee held tightly in his hands. There is a blanket draped over his shoulders and a heat pack tucked into his stomach. The damage to his person is minor as it turns out, something Tweek thanks whoever the hell he needs to for. He has a small cut along his hairline and a bruised cheek from being thrown on the floor, something he knows his mother will no doubt throw a fit about when she finally sees him and there goes any hope of keeping this all to himself. His right arm has a few butterfly stitches wrapped from the top of his wrist to the centre of his forearm where he had caught it going down, and his fingernails are definitely worse for wear, but when weren’t they? His stomach is the worst of it, splattering of bruises already making their way down his chest and all the way to his waist. Other than hurting like a bitch though, there is no lasting damage. He does have a pretty conclusive but negligible concussion and Tweek is not exactly surprised with that one, he really felt his head meeting that sidewalk. The world has finally stopped spinning though and the two Tylenol Token had dropped in his hand are already starting to take effect on his throbbing headache. 

Now however, he is sitting somewhat awkwardly on a probably very expensive white sofa, sipping pretty decent coffee and trying to make polite conversation with Token’s wife, Wendy; all the while Craig and Token mutter furiously to each other in the hallway. Tweek can just about make out Craig’s figure through the door frame if he leans back at just the right angle, just enough to see hands tucked into suit pants pockets and feet rock back and forth. 

“Don’t worry about them. Token is just giving Craig a hard time because he can,” Wendy smiles over at him as she catches him staring and he takes a guilty gulp of his coffee and pointedly averts his eyes from that direction. 

“I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble I-” Tweek starts, but Wendy tuts and shakes her head offering him a reassuring laugh. “It’s no trouble at all don’t you worry about it. They’ve been friends since high school, this is usual for them.”

“Okay,” he says stiffly, not sure what else to say as he turns his attention back to his drink. Wendy is beautiful, Tweek thinks. She has long black hair that is pulled into a high ponytail, expressive brown eyes that pin you in one look and an elegant demeanor that exudes a confidence Tweek could only wish to have. She is the kind of woman that looks like she could build up or bring down an entire nation with mere words and an expensive set of heels. 

She sends Tweek another sweet smile before she clears her throat, “you boys going to stand out there and argue about whose dick is bigger all night, or is one of you actually going to take Tweek home? I’m sure he’s probably eager to get back.” Tweek chokes on the sip of coffee he had just taken, spitting it back into his mug as he raises a hand to his mouth and looks up at Wendy in shock. The murmuring comes to a sudden halt and both Craig and Token appear bashfully in the doorway. Token shares a look with his wife and moves to stand behind her, both hands on her shoulders as he leans down to kiss her cheek. Craig barely spares them a glance, his attention solely on Tweek. 

“Yeah, I’ll get him back. You good to go?” Craig motions to him and the cup still held securely in his hands. Tweek throws back the rest of his drink, stuttering for only a moment when he realises this was the cup he  _ just spit back into _ . Swallowing down the distaste at his own actions, he stands and moves to put the mug onto the coffee table, except there is no  _ coaster  _ on their monstrous, mahogany coffee table so Tweek ends up just hovering between putting the cup down and holding it back to his chest. He looks up when he hears Wendy chuckle and she offers him her hand. 

“Here, let me take that.” Tweek gives her an awkward smile back as he hands her the cup.

“Come on, kid. Let's get you home.” 

“Don’t call me kid man, I’m barely a few years younger than you,” Tweek snaps back, glaring at Craig. Token snorts from where he is stood behind Wendy and his hand curls tighter on her shoulder as she shifts her face into one that is barely holding back laughter. Craig sends them both a nasty look which Token pointedly ignores and instead he moves to the side of his wife and holds out his hand towards Tweek.

“It was nice to meet you Tweek. Remember, rest, drink plenty of fluids, if you ever feel dizzy or lightheaded - hospital.” Tweek nods in understanding, scratching at his forehead sheepishly. 

“Thanks so much, sorry to just barge in-”

“Don’t apologise to him,” Craig cuts him off, shoulder leaning against the doorframe, “it’s not like he and Wendy have better things to do.” Tweek glares at Craig, but he can spy the twitching at the corner of his mouth and the crinkling around his eyes that tells him Craig is enjoying this moment of Tweek's embarrassment a little  _ too _ much. Wendy can apparently tell this to, because she rolls her eyes and points a finger at him, “you gotta stop picking up young men at the curb side Craigory, honestly.” Craig tears his eyes away from Tweek to frown instantly at Wendy, who laughs heartily when the man flips her off and turns, heading for the front door without saying anything. Tweek scrambles to follow as Wendy and Token move behind him. 

“It was nice to meet you Tweek, make sure you get this one's number okay? It would be nice to see you again under better circumstances.” He hears her say, and he looks back at them both with an awkward smile. 

“Er, okay. Thanks?” He makes a quick getaway out the front door and glances over his shoulder to see Wendy and Token waving from their porch. He shakes off the weird feeling he gets at the thought of spending time with people like this out of this bizarre situation and climbs back into Craig's car. Craig, who is sitting impassively in the driver's seat and already is pressing away at the screen in the centre. 

“Where am I taking you? Where do you live?” He says, not even deigning to look over at Tweek who is pulling his seatbelt across his chest. He takes a moment to think, about Craig, about what Wendy had said, then he makes his decision as he glances over at the other man. 

“We passed a diner on the way here, near Southwick.”

“So? You gonna tell me you live in the diner?” Craig leans back in his seat to observe Tweek with both eyebrows raised. Tweek rolls his eyes and mimics his position. 

“No, I want coffee.”

“You _ just _ had one.” Tweek shrugs, like craving another coffee directly after curbing his addiction is anything but a surprise. To Craig though, who has only known him a couple of hours, it probably is. 

“Yeah, so? I want another one.” 

“Are you always this demanding?”

“Are you always this inhospitable?” Craig sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. There is a funny churning in Tweeks stomach, because there is something to be had about getting under Craigs skin like this, and he isn’t exactly sure  _ why _ . A second later Craig pulls at his own seatbelt and then puts the car into gear and Tweek really can’t help the smirk he shoots across at him, especially when he catches Craigs grumbled ‘asshole’ under his breath. 

The drive to itself doesn’t take long. Token’s place sits on the outskirts of the city Tweek realises and so catching a hole in the wall place like this isn’t exactly weird, the owners clearly capitalising on the theme of the ‘traditional american diner’. It’s late, and thankfully this place is open twenty-four hours otherwise Tweek isn’t sure what he would have done if he had made Craig drive all this way only to find the place shut. There’s a small lot, with only a couple of parked cars next to it and Craig pulls in slowly and selects the space furthest from the rest from them, but in sight of windows.

They sit at the counter and an older woman with greying hair pulled into a loose bun and crooked teeth smiles at them tiredly as they sit. She raises the coffee pot in her hand and Tweek smiles gratefully as Craig shakes his head. 

“You're not getting one?”

“I don’t drink coffee after ten. My sleep schedule is fucked as it is.” 

“All the more reason to drink it then.” Craig settles him with a flat look as Tweek's coffee is placed in front of him, and he leans across the counter to grab at the closest sweetener. 

“No creamer?” Craig remarks, watching Tweek as he drops in the white granules and stirs it wildly, spoon banging the side of the mug. 

“Bleugh, why waste a perfectly good coffee.”

“You  _ just _ put in sweetener.” Tweek leans towards Craig conspiringly, looking back and forth until he sees the waitress is far enough away before he whispers, “that’s because it’s diner coffee.” 

“...you wanted to come here,” Craig says as Tweek leans back and takes a large swig of the hot liquid. He finger guns Craig as he takes his sip, but doesn’t speak until the cup is safely back in front of him. “Exactly.” 

Craig stares at him, completely perplexed for a minute before he laughs, open and honest for the first time since they met and Tweek finds he really,  _ really _ likes the sound of Craig's laugh. He turns his body slightly but hands nursing his cup as he looks over Craig in the bright light of the diner. His eyes trace over his face and his sharp jawline, his long nose, his impeccably straight and white teeth. Craig seems like the kind of guy that is incredibly put together, even when he probably isn't’. Despite the events of the night, his hair is still styled and swept to the side, as if he hadn’t heroically or stupidly interrupted a mugging, and his white shirt remains fairly unwrinkled and unmarked. His tie is pulled loose at the collar and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows and it  _ works _ for him and Tweek knows if he even attempted to look like that he would probably look like the asshole bum who had robbed him of his hard earnings. 

“So…” Craig says, leaning both arms on the counter, “you have your coffee, now what?” 

“You let me drink in peace and then take me home?” 

“Come on man, tell me something about yourself.” Tweek hesitates, because his life is woefully dull. There isn’t much to tell and Craig seems like the exact person whose life is filled with action that Tweek has seen in his entire life, let alone his stumble in adulthood.

“There really isn’t much to tell. I live by myself in a crappy apartment, I work in my parents coffee house for an ever crappier wage and...that’s it.” Wow, that was a lot more depressing to say out loud. Christ, Craig is going to think he is entirely incompetent at this rate. Craig however, gives him a pointed stare. 

“No one is that boring Tweek, not even you. You gotta give me something here, what do you do when you get home?” Tweek shrinks in his seat, this is why he doesn’t have many friends, this is why he hates social interaction. There isn’t  _ anything  _ to Tweek, he just exists in a permanent orbit around everyone else while they live out their lives. 

“I...read sci-fi novels? I bake? I dunno dude. I’m really not that interesting, don’t hurt yourself over it.” Craig's eyes light up however at the mention of Tweeks sci-fi addiction.

“Sci-fi books. See, now you’re talking. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid.” Tweek takes a sip of his drink and Craig divulges into a story about his childhood, how he made his parents get him anything NASA related, how he had glow in the dark stars on his ceiling, how his favourite franchise is  _ Aliens _ and how Sigourney Weaver is a national treasure. Tweek laps it up, hanging on his every word, laughing and smiling as though the earlier events of the night had never happened. It’s nice, Tweek supposes, he’s missed this comfort, of just  _ being _ , of inhabiting the same air with another person with no concern of the world around them. He and Kenny had shared rare moments like this, but it wasn’t the same and with the rate the two worked, finding time to just hang out like this was far and few between. 

“...but yeah, my sister was insufferable after that.” Tweek smiles into his cup as he drops it down onto the counter and the waitress comes over to refill it. He nods gratefully and reaches over to grab more sweetener when he catches the way Craig is looking at him. 

“What?” 

“I’ve gone on about my asshole sister and my embarrassing childhood bedroom, you don’t get a free pass.” Tweek bites his lip as he stares back at Craig. His eyes are really something, his left eye is an incandescent blue, deep and clear like the sea but his right, his right eye is a dusky brown, shades of amber and hazel swirling around each other. Craig is not the kind of person that Tweek just happens by, smart and funny and kind of handsome; there is no way that Tweeks luck is that good. 

“Why are you being so nice to me man?” Craig frowns at him. “I dunno, maybe I’m just a nice guy.” Tweek snorts into his drink and Craig rolls his eyes. 

“Wow.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, honest.” Tweek laughs, watching as Craig looks away from him and picking at some invisible dirt under his nails. “It’s been a long time since I’ve just sat down and had an honest conversation with someone. Stupid, but it’s kind of nice. Ya know?”

“Yeah. I get it. Probably more than you realise.” They share an awkward moment before Craig clears his throat and restarts the conversation again and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Tweek that Craig directs the conversation away from him. 

“So you work for your parents right? You said they own a coffee house? Tell me about it, that been your great childhood dream, take over the family business and all that?” Tweeks eyes go wide and he shakes his head vehemently. 

“Oh fuck no. My parents bought the place when I was a baby, I think? I was pretty young anyway. My dad is obsessed with coffee, I think he probably wanted the shop more than he wanted a kid. It’s never done great though, our coffee is shit. Well, not really, but the Harbucks a block away could probably make you a better latte, I dunno. Dad’s never really looked at changing or improving anything, he likes what he likes and that has to suit everyone you know?” Craig hums, tucking an arm underneath the other as readjusts himself to a more comfortable position against his plastic stool. 

“But it doesn’t suit you?” He asks and Tweek frowns, feeling a bit out of his depth. He props his head in one hand as the other goes to run a finger along the rim of his mug. He’s never really spoken about this to anyone before, not even Kenny, not really. So it feels weird, foreign, to be sat in some tiny, outdated diner baring himself to a guy he barely even knows. 

“Man, I think I’ve spent more time in that shop that I have spent in my own house. Growing up my dad would take me there to ‘teach me the family trade’ so I never really had a chance to make proper friends, and I was a weird kid. I used to really struggle with ADD and anxiety and stuff so I used to have all these tics, it used to put people off. It’s taken years of therapy just to try and control them now and sometimes…” Tweek trails off, gripping his mug with one hand and taking a swig of the cooling liquid. When he puts it down he glances over at Craig and immediately hates the look on his face, it’s not pity, maybe, god he hopes it’s not. There is something there though, not understanding, because Tweek can’t imagine that Craig has ever really known something as depressing as being a loner with weird tics, no money and eccentric parents.

“You didn’t go to college?” Craig questions instead, and Tweek offers him a small shrug. 

“Nah, my grades were never great and my parents certainly couldn’t afford to pay the tuition, so I just...stayed where I was. Dad was disappointed, he wanted me to go into business or something but, that was never gonna happen.”

“What about your mom?” 

“I think she was just happy that I was sticking around, she likes taking care of me like I’m still five. She was pretty unhappy about me moving out and still asks me when I’m moving back from time to time.” Craig nods, scratching at his neck. 

“If you could go, what would you do?”

“What? Go to college? Bit late for that?” Tweek muses and Craig nudges him lightly with his elbow. “Not really man, you’re only twenty-four, but humour me anyway.”

“I dunno, I guess, I’d probably do something in catering? Baking and pastry arts or something. I do a lot of baking for the coffee house, I like it.” 

“Okay, so tell your parents you want to go to college and that’s what you’re going to major in. There are loads of scholarships and finance programs out there, you can’t just sit in the same place for your whole life Tweek, it will eat you alive.” 

“Yeah well, it’s not exactly that easy.” Craig scoffs at him, “how is it not?”

“Look, I can barely afford to pay my own rent, and my parents have  _ just _ cut my pay because they’re struggling to pay their shit. Plus that dickhole you interrupted earlier was happily relieving me of the only money I had so, maybe it’s easy in whatever world you live in, but it’s certainly not in mine.” Craig stares at him, eyes piercing into his very core. The look is contemplative, and he narrows his eyes as he runs his tongue over the top row of his teeth. For some reason, the action causes Tweek to swallow hard with nerves. 

“Why don’t I make it easy?” Craig finally breaks, and Tweek pulls at his ear lobe, another one of his past anxious tics breaking through. “What?”

“Look,” Craig runs a hand through his hair before he starts, looking bashfully over at Tweek before taking a breath. “This is probably going to sound weird but hear me out before you start passing judgement. So I kind of own my company, we do a lot of software programming, developing apps, that kind of thing. Mostly I get by in life minding my own business and actually having to deal very little with people. But my VP also happens to be my best friend, and his girlfriend is my PA. Between the two of them I get dragged out to lots of bullshit events, where I gotta kiss the ass of old wrinkly white guys mainly in hopes they invest. Normally I go stag but recently, it's apparently become an issue.” Craig rubs a hand over his face tiredly and leans his head back to look at the ceiling, before he turns his attention back to Tweek and sighs.

“I don’t know why, people talk, not that I have ever given a shit about what they think of me and...ignoring how pathetic this is going to sound, being someone like me is kinda hard to find a date. I don’t generally like people and most guys who want to get with me usually like my wallet before they even get to know me, so trust isn’t exactly easy to come by.

“So, I figure, why not just pay someone to come with me to these shitty events? Then I cut out all the bullshit of having to date, people see me being social and committed to someone and someone gets a paycheck out of it, everyone’s happy. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything weird, just turn up with me in a suit and tie, smile, look pretty, do the rounds and I’ll drop you home after. Job done. No one needs to know I’m paying you, you’ll get a nice suit, good meal and at best a mildly boring evening out of it and go home with a chunk of cash in your pocket.”

“Uhhhhh…” Tweek blinks at him, still trying to exactly process what he’s just been told. This guy next to him, who stopped his ride to save his ass, who will most likely be paying for the endless coffee Tweek’s consumed is what, mega loaded? A CEO of his own company at only five years his senior? Wait-  _ What? _

Craig takes Tweek's stunned silence to infer the exact opposite of what he’s thinking, and his face crumples. “Oh fuck you're not a homophobe or anything? Have I totally read this wrong, fuck it, ignore me it's stupid.” Tweek waves his hands in front of his face in panic, his brain finally kick-starting back up. 

“No no man, that's not the issue. I was...sorry it just going to say that it sounded like you’re setting me up for domestic prostition or something at first, but ignoring that because dude, I’m sorry but what the fuck? You ‘kind of’ own your own business? What does that even  _ mean _ ?” Craig looks at him bashfully with a strained smile. 

“Well I do  _ technically _ own it yeah, but I don’t officially run it? I leave that to the board. I just design a lot of the software for it.” Tweek holds his hands up and open on the counter, brain still whirring from the information he’s been told because- 

“Holy  _ shit. _ ” 

“Yeeeah.” 

“And yet you made me go on about my boring ass life like you don’t have yourself put together?” Tweek looks over at him before he punches Craig in the arm, because jesus christ, here is whining about how poor and pathetic he is and he’s sat next to someone who probably spent the majority of his youth with a ridiculous work ethic that he put to good use. 

“Ow what the hell man look, I’m not going to sit here and say I got there easily, or without a lot of luck because I didn’t. I had one idea that hit it off and it went from there, don’t compare yourself to me because I stumbled on an opportunity.” Tweek sighs, rubbing a hand over his temple. 

“Is that what this is, me ‘stumbling on an opportunity’?” He asks, and Craig shrugs, waving a hand at him. 

“If you want to look at it like that yeah, sure.” 

“Why me man? There’s gotta be hundreds of guys out there you could ask, you just met me.” He just can’t work it out, there is nothing special about Tweek. He still has coffee stains on his work shirt and he hasn’t showered in over a day and he spends most of his life wasting away up in his apartment reading. What would a guy like Tweek ever offer anyone like Craig? He certainly wasn’t interesting or attractive enough to parade around a room of high society leeches in some weird, desperate attempt to impress them. 

“Why not? You didn’t know who I was until now, I need a date, you need the money. You’re cute and easy on the eyes, probably look good in a suit, what more do you want me to say? Am I flattering you enough? Cut me some slack here man.” Tweek snickers, staring at Craig with a disparaging look.

“Is that your way of flattering me. Jesus no wonder you’re single.” Craig at least had the dignity to _ look offended.  _

“Are you?”

“What?”

“Single?”

“Yeah.” 

Craig points a finger at him. “Right, so don’t think you’re in a position to give me relationship advice.” Tweek chuckles, closing his eyes and dropping his head onto the counter in front of him. Is he really considering this? 

“You don’t have to do this, honestly. It was a stupid suggestion just forget it-” Craig’s rambling, a light dusting of red on his cheeks and Tweek is speaking before he even realises his mouth is open.

“Okay.”

“What?”

"I said okay. You saved my ass and bought me coffee so it’s the least I can do.” Craig’s mouth opens to speak, when he stops himself, registering Tweeks words. 

“Who said I’m paying?” Tweek sends him a look as he sits up and throws back the rest of his now cold coffee. 

“I just got mugged and your bank account is probably bigger than your over inflated ego so…” Craig smiles in amusement and Tweek already knows he’s made the right choice.

“Plus, it’s for like, a couple of nights or something right?” He says, eyes narrowing when he sees Craig freeze and rub at the back of his neck uneasily. 

“Oh. Well…” 

“What?” 

“Technically, it would kind of be a gig for a couple of months?”

“A couple of…?” And okay, so this is becoming a little more permanent than Tweek would have liked, but he could handle that besides, he really needed the extra cash. That was what this was all about at the end of the day right? Nothing more than a business transaction, he would do this for Craig and he would be paid for his troubles, job done. He wouldn’t even have to bother his parents with begging for extra money on his next paycheck if he could blag to his landlord a small extension on rent and Craig paid him enough. 

“Sorry I should have made that clear from the beginning, it would be just until I can get Clyde and Bebe off my case, then we can fake a break up or whatever and go on our merry way.” 

“No no it's fine. Yeah sure. Let's do it.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.” Craig watches him through mismatched eyes. 

“I haven’t even told you how much?”

“Go on then, make it worth my while.” Tweek crosses his arms and leans back as much as he can the cheap, plastic bar stools that are supposed to account for chairs. 

“$1000?” Craig looks as though he is asking him rather than telling him and Tweek wasn’t aware this would be a negotiation. A thousand bucks though? That would be more than enough to get him through the next month and a bit on his crappy pay until he worked out his next move. 

“For a couple of months of schmoozing? Okay.” Craig gives him a funny look. 

“...I meant a night.” Tweek chokes in his own spit. 

“What?!” Craig eyes him warily. 

“You seriously thought I meant $1000 for two months worth of work? Jesus dude come on, how low is your bar?” Tweek gives him a dismayed laugh. 

“You have no idea,” he mutters, bracing both hands on the counter he turns to Craig and gives him a small smile. “Hell yeah man, $1000 a night? I’m game.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not a business owner. 
> 
> I am not an entrepreneur. 
> 
> I am taking huge creative licence. 
> 
> Sue me.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments I love reading them. 
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr @permanentchaos
> 
> Updates every second Saturday!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it so far. This was pretty fun to write!
> 
> Updates are planned for every second Saturday :)
> 
> Come yell at me on Tumblr @permanentchaos


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